Little Novels. Wilkie Collins
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу Little Novels - Wilkie Collins страница 18
Название: Little Novels
Автор: Wilkie Collins
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 9783849658496
isbn:
She snatched up a copy of the will, which I had not even noticed thus far.
“See what the kind old man says of you,” she went on, pointing to the words. I could not see them; she was obliged to read them for me. “I leave my money to the one person living who has been more than worthy of the little I have done for her, and whose simple unselfish nature I know that I can trust.”
I pressed Mrs. Fosdyke’s hand; I was not able to speak. She took up the legal paper next.
“Do justice to yourself, and be above contemptible scruples,” she said. “Sextus is fond enough of you to be almost worthy of the sacrifice that you are making. Sign—and I will sign next as the witness.”
I hesitated.
“What will he think of me?” I said.
“Sign!” she repeated, “and we will see to that.”
I obeyed. She asked for the lawyer’s letter. I gave it to her, with the lines which contained the man’s vile insinuation folded down, so that only the words above were visible, which proved that I had renounced my legacy, not even knowing whether the person to be benefited was a man or a woman. She took this, with the rough draft of my own letter, and the signed renunciation—and opened the door.
“Pray come back, and tell me about it!” I pleaded.
She smiled, nodded, and went out.
Oh, what a long time passed before I heard the long-expected knock at the door! “Come in,” I cried impatiently.
Mrs. Fosdyke had deceived me. Mr. Sax had returned in her place. He closed the door. We two were alone.
He was deadly pale; his eyes, as they rested on me, had a wild startled look. With icy cold fingers he took my hand, and lifted it in silence to his lips. The sight of his agitation encouraged me—I don’t to this day know why, unless it appealed in some way to my compassion. I was bold enough to look at him. Still silent, he placed the letters on the table—and then he laid the signed paper beside them. When I saw that, I was bolder still. I spoke first.
“Surely you don’t refuse me?” I said.
He answered, “I thank you with my whole heart; I admire you more than words can say. But I can’t take it.”
“Why not?”
“The fortune is yours,” he said gently. “Remember how poor I am, and feel for me if I say no more.”
His head sank on his breast. He stretched out one hand, silently imploring me to understand him. I could endure it no longer. I forgot every consideration which a woman, in my position, ought to have remembered. Out came the desperate words, before I could stop them.
“You won’t take my gift by itself?” I said.
“No.”
“Will you take Me with it?”
That evening, Mrs. Fosdyke indulged her sly sense of humor in a new way. She handed me an almanac.
“After all, my dear,” she remarked, “you needn’t be ashamed of having spoken first. You have only used the ancient privilege of the sex. This is Leap Year.”
MR. COSWAY AND THE LANDLADY.
I.
THE guests would have enjoyed their visit to Sir Peter’s country house—but for Mr. Cosway. And to make matters worse, it was not Mr. Cosway but the guests who were to blame. They repeated the old story of Adam and Eve, on a larger scale. The women were the first sinners; and the men were demoralized by the women.
Mr. Cosway’s bitterest enemy could not have denied that he was a handsome, well-bred, unassuming man. No mystery of any sort attached to him. He had adopted the Navy as a profession—had grown weary of it after a few years’ service—and now lived on the moderate income left to him, after the death of his parents. Out of this unpromising material the lively imaginations of the women built up a romance. The men only noticed that Mr. Cosway was rather silent and thoughtful; that he was not ready with his laugh; and that he had a fancy for taking long walks by himself. Harmless peculiarities, surely? And yet, they excited the curiosity of the women as signs of a mystery in Mr. Cosway’s past life, in which some beloved object unknown must have played a chief part.
As a matter of course, the influence of the sex was tried, under every indirect and delicate form of approach, to induce Mr. Cosway to open his heart, and tell the tale of his sorrows. With perfect courtesy, he baffled curiosity, and kept his supposed secret to himself. The most beautiful girl in the house was ready to offer herself and her fortune as consolations, if this impenetrable bachelor would only have taken her into his confidence. He smiled sadly, and changed the subject.
Defeated so far, the women accepted the next alternative.
One of the guests staying in the house was Mr. Cosway’s intimate friend—formerly his brother-officer on board ship. This gentleman was now subjected to the delicately directed system of investigation which had failed with his friend. With unruffled composure he referred the ladies, one after another, to Mr. Cosway. His name was Stone. The ladies decided that his nature was worthy of his name.
The last resource left to our fair friends was to rouse the dormant interest of the men, and to trust to the confidential intercourse of the smoking-room for the enlightenment which they had failed to obtain by other means.
In the accomplishment of this purpose, the degree of success which rewarded their efforts was due to a favoring state of affairs in the house. The shooting was not good for much; the billiard-table was under repair; and there were but two really skilled whist-players among the guests. In the atmosphere of dullness thus engendered, the men not only caught the infection of the women’s curiosity, but were even ready to listen to the gossip of the servants’ hall, repeated to their mistresses by the ladies’ maids. The result of such an essentially debased state of feeling as this was not slow in declaring itself. But for a lucky accident, Mr. Cosway would have discovered to what extremities of ill-bred curiosity idleness and folly can lead persons holding the position of ladies and gentlemen, when he joined the company at breakfast on the next morning.
The newspapers came in before the guests had risen from the table. Sir Peter handed one of them to the lady who sat on his right hand.
She first looked, it is needless to say, at the list of births, deaths, and marriages; and then she turned to the general news—the fires, accidents, fashionable departures, and so on. In a few minutes, she indignantly dropped the newspaper in her lap.
“Here is another unfortunate man,” she exclaimed, “sacrificed to the stupidity of women! If I had been in his place, I would have used my knowledge of swimming to save myself, and would have left the women to СКАЧАТЬ